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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827205">Coffee and Contemplation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisplace_ishaunted/pseuds/thisplace_ishaunted'>thisplace_ishaunted</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Motionless in White (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Twin Peaks Vibes, Unrelated to the band, southern gothic literature inspired</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:00:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>732</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisplace_ishaunted/pseuds/thisplace_ishaunted</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark. Dreary. December. Diner.... enter Ryan Sitkowski.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ryan Sitkowski/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Coffee and Contemplation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted on Tumblr in December 2019.<br/>A/N from my original post:<br/>This is my Motionless in White Christmas Gift Exchange story for @/alilpunkrock who requested Ryan.  This is also literally the first thing I have ever written in my entire life that wasn’t for school.  I am curious if this is any good/what yall think, as I have no idea.  I am interested in Southern American Gothic literature/vibez and I wanted this to reflect that; so I am sorry but this isn’t some cutesy Christmasy fic (think more dreary December).  Also, coffee is literally my entire life, so I had to fit it in there some way. :) I hope yall enjoy and let me know what yall think.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>              The place was starting to clear out for the night.  Only three tables were occupied in the low-lit diner.  It wasn’t glamorous work, but sometimes it was fun to pretend to be a small-town stereotype: frilly uniform, white pressed apron, coffee pot in hand.  Most of all, you enjoyed seeing people in their element.  This is where people let their guard down.  Most stare at their phone and scroll, others watch as you or your coworkers clean behind the counter lined with barstools, but a few choose to just sit in silence.  These people are the ones that you like the most.  They stare into their coffee, occasionally pushing leftover bits of food around their plate.  Late nights are for coffee and contemplation, often of the silent variety.<br/>
             The three remaining guests had all been there long enough for you to form your assumptions about them.  The business-casual, mid-50’s guy sitting at the counter scrolling though is phone… he got off work a few hours ago, he sits here, mindlessly scrolling, because he has nobody at home, either divorced or never married.  A younger, college-aged girl sits at a booth with books scattered and laptop open… she is here because the coffee shop down the street closes at 8pm, and her deadlines and exams are too close for her to stop studying at 8pm.  <br/>
             In the backmost booth, a man has been sitting for the past hour or so.  As opposed to sitting facing the inside of the diner, he sits facing the windowed wall, looking out into the misty darkness.  Your coworker had been serving him before she had left for the night, leaving you as the only waitress until closing.  He seems fairly young, but you are unsure of much else because of the thick jacket and black baseball cap he is wearing.  You stand behind the counter, filling the water glass of Mr. Business Casual, when you see the younger guy stand and head past the counter towards the front door.  <br/>
             “Don’t take my coffee, I will be back,” he says to you, almost too softly, as he opens the glass front door and steps outside. The wind chill and relentless drizzle is typical of a mid-December night. He pulls the sleeves of his jacket downward to cover his forearms and pulls a vape out of the pocket of his jeans.  With a vacant stare off into the puddled parking lot, he takes draws off the vape, but the clouds blow quickly away from his face with the cold wind.  <br/>
             At this point, you are able to get a better look at him through the glass door without him noticing your stare.  One hand in his jeans pocket, the other holding the vape up to his mouth again; his long and thin fingers are visibly tattooed.  He is definitely taller than you, with slender legs and black leather dress boots.  You notice the scruff covering his chin and you are suddenly thinking how beautiful he his.  It might just be that he is the mysterious, silent type you like to observe in the diner, but now that you are not just seeing the back of his head, there is a lot more to judge.  His eyes are dark as he turns to look at you… oh no, he noticed you looking at him.  You attempt to quickly look away and hide what you were doing, but he chuckles and smiles, his dark eyes squinting just a bit.  He steps to the side of the door where you can no longer see him.  <br/>
             You know you shouldn’t have been staring at a customer.  Cheeks still red, you get back to work, filling salt and pepper shakers behind the counter.  A few minutes later, the bell attached to the front of the door rings, announcing he has stepped back into the warmth of the diner.  You choose not to look up at him as he re-enters, as you are still embarrassed at yourself.  A five-dollar bill and a slip of paper are dropped right by your hands.  As you look up, he steps back through the door, the bell ringing again; he lifts the hood of his jacket over his hat and walks off into the night.  <br/>
             On the slip of paper, underneath a phone number, his name, “Ryan,” and at the bottom, in quick handwriting, “PS: I like your outfit.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title is from Stranger Things, though not intentionally. Whoops.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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